


Blood On the Calamus

by OuyangDan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuyangDan/pseuds/OuyangDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a gift I wrote for the lovely and talented Yamisnuffles. She's a wonderful friend and generous soul who is always enabling me with the most fantastic whiplash feels.</p>
<p>The idea that Anders has killed and plucked crows outside the Chantry for his Act III coat is her own headcanon, and an idea which I am very fond of. It lines up with my own headcanon that he is rather fastidious in his hygiene and fairly meticulous in caring for his belongings, not throwing something away until it is no longer useful, and mending it with great care. </p>
<p>I simply love Adel Hawke, and had intended to write her a cute little shippy drabble, but this happened instead. Leave it to the Andersmancers to think this is the sort of gift appropriate for telling someone you appreciate them. I guess I could have left her a basket full of poo instead.</p>
<p>This is set just before the Justice quest. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood On the Calamus

It was the hardest part, keeping them clean. The feathers had a way of holding onto odor, and it forever bothered him, sometimes to distraction. The new ones were free from the wear and tear and smells, but the the plucking had left behind smudges which had to be cleaned away, one shimmering green and purple variegated feather at a time. The sheen under the ever-present candlelight had an almost calming effect as he very gently washed each calamus, having care not to wet the actual vane, then laid them gently back into the small chest where he’d been keeping them while he collected them. It had taken months, but he finally had enough.

The process was tedious, but the concentration soothed his mind, and made him focus enough that Justice stayed quiet. For now.

He watched Del change. Muscled shoulders slipping into her housecoat, dark hair hanging loose down her back. She turned just enough that her bright blue eyes caught his gaze for just a moment. The smile that ghosted her face was strained, not meeting her eyes or creasing her tattoo, and he wondered how much she suspected.

Anders smiled back for just a moment before guilt tugged his attention back to the feathers in his hand.

_You should tell her, Anders_.

The cloth in his hand paused mid-motion, his eyes clenching.  _No. Let her stay innocent of this_.

_This is not right, Anders_. Justice stirred, unsettling him. Anders could feel his agitation rise within himself, as if it were his own.  _She deserves to know. To make her own choice_.

Anders gritted his teeth. This was not a discussion he wanted to have. Again. The problem with fighting with Justice was not being able to walk away when he needed to step back from the argument. Not like in Amaranthine, when he could put a campfire or tent or even stone walls between himself and the spirit. Before ideas had seeped into his head and alliances had been made. Simpler times, chasing darkspawn with Liadan, even though he hated the deep roads. The irony that he’d done this to himself was not lost on him.

_I will tell her enough. When this is over, she should be allowed to make a clean break_.

He curled over the feather again, his brow drawn tight.

_Is that what you think will happen, Anders? You think a mortal so easily able to offer all of the assistance she has, all of the support, and then walk away? If that is the truth of it then I do not understand mortals as I had assumed_.

His fingers gripped around the feather in his hand until it snapped in half. “I said I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Alright.” Del pulled her hand — which he had only just realised had been on his shoulder — away. “You looked… I just thought…“

He forced another smile and dropped the rag and feather to the floor, out of sight, before grabbing her retreating hand. “No. It’s alright, love. Just… a lot on my mind.” That was saying something.

Her smile was tight, heartbreakingly so, but the lines in her face showed the attempt at making it believable. What an ass he was, putting her through all of this. “That happens a lot lately. I’m starting to get jealous.”

She was trying to make a joke. It was a quality he loved about her. The sometimes glibness that kept them both grounded. He tried to laugh, even felt the bubble of his ribs as his lungs almost got there. There was no reality behind it, and it fell flat into the quiet between them. 

He let go of her hand and looked down at his own, not wanting to meet her eyes. Justice made him a terrible liar, and too many times recently he’d bended and skirted around the truth creatively in order accomplish the same end.

He winced, knowing his thoughts were not his own.  _You use her. Would she not still fight with us if she knew? It is unjust to deny her this choice_.

_This is not her fight_.

_It could be_.

“Believe me. That isn’t it.” He let out a hard breath. One thumb idly flicked the corner of stacked pages, long-since abandoned. No one read the manifestos. Unless he aggressively put them in the hands of passers-by or read them aloud no one noticed. 

“I believe you if you say so.” His eyes followed her as she moved to sit on the end of the bed, that look of wanting to say something more on her lips, but a determination in her eyes. She knew something was off, but she wasn’t going to ask. Or maybe she was afraid.

_She should be_.

_She does not need to be this afraid_. 

_She could die_.

_For a cause she believes in. Which she fights for because it is just_.

_We don’t all have to die for this. Someone needs to keep it going after_.

After. What was going to happen after? It was hard to see anything after.  _After_  wasn’t so much intangible as unlikely.

He also wasn’t sure he  _could_  die. That thought disturbed him more than he would ever say out loud. It wasn’t a theory he wanted to test, again, and not one he wanted to worry Adel over. 

Anders’ fingers wound in his loose-hanging shirt. It was clean despite the stains here and there from frequent wear. His knees creaked a little when he stood, following to where she sat and sinking lightly beside her. Justice didn’t need to eat, and sometimes forgot that he did. Even if the old coat hadn’t reached the end of what he could repair, it just didn’t fit anymore. His eyes flicked to his project in the corner. Parts of it could, and would, be salvaged. “I know things have been… difficult lately. You’ve been better than I deserve, love.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said with a hint of purr in her voice. One finger hooked over the wide collar of his shirt. It sounded as stiff as the way he moved to wrap his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder. “You give as good as you get most times.”

He almost laughed now. It used to be so easy, to joke, to laugh, to fall together and enjoy one another. Part of him missed that, the ease and the security, the reassurance that he wasn’t alone. The rest… knew it was probably better this way.

_That is not true, Anders_.

He tensed, his arms tightening around Adel. If she noticed, she didn’t comment, instead sliding her fingers into his hair and pressing her lips to the crown of his head. “I do love you.”

“I don’t doubt that, even a little.”

He didn’t lift his face to look at her.  _But I do_.

_Tell her_.

Anders let out a long sigh, tightening his arms around Adel. “I just need to finish something up, and I’ll come to bed.”

She lifted his face and nodded, bright blue eyes dimming with a hint of sadness he put there. Her lips smiled anyhow. “I’ll keep it warm for you.”

She kissed him, lingeringly and leaning into it as he stood and pulled away from her.

Anders gathered up his rag and the small chest, then retreated from the room.

 

#

 

He looked out the window. The new coat fit better, probably because it was tailored for him now, and not the Warden he’d once been nor the fugitive he’d become since. He barely heard himself ask to speak somewhere private. Her laugh echoed dimly in his ear. He wound his hands around one another even as the rest of his posture was rigidly erect, and he only focused when her hands touched his, stilling the motion. 

If she went with this, then maybe… maybe there was a chance. Maybe Justice was right, and it would be… more than he dared hope.

“And there you have it. All alone. Just the two of us.” There was that hint in her words again, playful, laced with hopeful suggestion.

“Right. Er…” His fingers worried over and over again. 

_We need her help_.

_I won’t lie to her_.

_Then don’t_.

She watched his face, the plea as plain on her face as the tension felt in his. The silence settled, a weight on his chest. It was almost too tight to breath. He rolled his shoulders, the feathers rustling lightly against his ears as he did. “I’m going to be trying something, and I thought you’d want to be part of it.”


End file.
